F g

Phoebe L

United States

please, talk to me about dad rock.

Message to Readers

I'm not sure if I should make this longer or leave it as it is? Any feedback is appreciated :)

Nothing Really Matters To Nietzsche

January 10, 2016


"Y'know, it can take human cells days to die after a person bites the dust. But uh, I think I already know a couple of people whose brains have been dead for years."  You raised one eyebrow and smirked at me, as if expecting to bowl me over with this fact. Your hands were sweaty and blurring the label on your beer can, millions of atoms of fermented wheat swirling around the bottle. You announced yourself a nihilist with the grandeur and pomp of that of a king, something us mere history majors couldn't possible be smart enough to comprehend. We who let ourselves get bogged down with the dates of ancient victories and losses, with who had died as a hero and who had lived to become a villan. But you, you were a hypothetical god among us hypothetical mortals. You alone understood that life had no meaning,that nothing the human race had strived for would ever amount to anything; that's why you were the ethics major, after all. And as a true king, you did not let your barriers falter. At least, not at first.

But after you had oh so graciously allowed me to break down your walls -- a months long process over countless cups of scalding coffee and heated arguments in your dorm -- I agreed that yes, maybe you were as charming as you thought you were after all. You had a confident laugh, one that I'm sure had made many feel insecure but somehow made me feel safe. Maybe it was the way you catapulted yourself through this world, aware that nothing it offered held any meaning yet somehow was worth the effort. Maybe it was how your obnoxious habits somehow became endearing, maybe it was that you kept your room at a punctual 64 degrees but always silently handed me your sweatshirt when I started to shiver, maybe it was that slightly conceding look in your eyes when you knew I was right but wouldn't outwardly admit it, or maybe it was the way you forgave me for caring too much about someone who didn't care at all.


And I guess I really hadn't see it coming. I didn't understand when I saw the garish yellow police tape. I didn't understand when I saw the college president talking in hushed tones to the group of eagerly nervous looking journalists, I didn't understand when that said swarm of college kids with microphones surrounded me, I didn't understand until I saw two harried policemen searching with flashlights in the bay that held every single one of those 7 octillion atoms in your body.

They later found your 1990 Chevy Caprice rusting away in the forest nearby. Sometimes I look down in the water and wonder what kind of tree your atoms were now bonding with. If the Greeks named atoms after something unbreakable, something that's bond couldn't be broken, as the basic unit of matter; then I knew all that mattered to me was you. Sometimes I lean as far off that bridge as I can and wonder if I jumped too, if my atoms would reunite in the same fir or pine or oak tree as you.

And they will.



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